Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JULIETTE
“ T he only person leaving is you, Declan,” my mom intervenes. “You cannot just show up here and start making demands.”
Declan glances at her. “Have you known where she was the entire time?”
Mom swallows hard, her throat moving as she nods reluctantly.
“So every single Christmas when I talked about missing my baby sister, you knew where she was and just didn’t think I needed to know?”
“It wasn’t like that, Declan,” I interrupt. “She didn’t tell you because I asked her not to.”
“Because you were hiding,” he spits. “From your own family.”
“I wasn’t hiding from you, Dec,” I reply. “But I wasn’t sure if I could trust you not to tell Dean.”
The admission sends tension crackling through the air. Declan’s green eyes are full of anger and anguish. It’s a bitter pill of truth for me. I hurt my family when I left. But I knew that already—I’ve hacked their cameras enough over the years. Still, hearing my brother’s pain in person instead of thousands of miles away hurts more than I thought.
“You couldn’t trust me?” Declan asks. “That’s rich, coming from you. Only one of us standing here is a liar, little red, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”
Guilt eats at me, making a meal of my screw-ups. I feel myself shrinking under Declan’s gaze. A billion thoughts bounce around my head—so many harsh voices yelling insults at me. I’ve never considered myself a selfish person, but clearly, I was wrong. All this agony is my fault. My family’s agony, mine, Dean’s. I was selfish to leave, but to do it without even considering how it might affect my family? That’s worse.
Heat spreads down my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up to see Dean standing next to me. He drops a kiss on my forehead, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Your sister did what she thought was best,” he says, looking at Declan. “What happened that night is on me. It was me who drove your sister away. So if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me. But what you’re not going to do is call my girl names.”
“I’ll call my sister whatever the fuck I want, Walsh. Why are you still here? This is a family matter. You need to go.” Declan looks at Kane. “Remove him.”
Kane steps forward before freezing.
“You work for me, Kane,” my mother hisses. “Not Declan. You remove Dean, and I won’t speak to you for a month.”
Kane’s eyes widen almost comically, but the negative energy swirling around kills any hint of humor.
“Declan, I think it’s time for you to go,” my mother says. “You’ve got a pregnant wife at home. That’s where your focus should be.”
“You think I’d leave my pregnant wife behind when I’m leaving the country?”
“Gemma is here?” I ask.
“Don’t change the subject,” Declan snaps. “Whatever this is,” he points between Dean and me, “ends now.”
I rub my temple. My brother is weighing on me. Every time he speaks, I feel another spark of rage grow. He’s more concerned about this pissing contest than the fact that he’s standing in front of the sister he claims to have missed so much.
“Declan, I know I’ve fucked up. I’ve admitted it. But if you just give me a chance, I will love your sister more than anyone else on the planet.”
“Remember when you wanted a chance in Columbia? How did that end?”
Dean stills beside me. “That was a mistake.”
“And for all I know, Dean, my sister could end up being another one of your mistakes.”
Declan steps toward Dean, his face a mask of pure hatred. I can almost taste the promise of violence in the air.
“Why don’t we all just calm down?” Kane tries to step in, but it’s too late.
As Declan raises his fist, Dean pushes me away with his forearm. My mother shouts as Declan slams his hand into Dean’s face, knocking his head back. Dean recovers quickly, repaying Declan’s aggression by tackling him to the ground. His face is a blank mask as he and Declan thrash around, trying to gain the upper hand.
My feet are cemented to the floor. I can’t do anything but watch the brutality. Kane tries to pull Declan off Dean, but it’s no use. They’re determined to hurt each other. Dean manages to roll them again, knocking Kane down in the process. Glass shatters somewhere, but I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. Every precise punch adds another drop of McBride blood sinking into the floor. I can only imagine how big the housekeeping bill is going to be.
“Knock it off,” my mother demands. “Your son is right here.”
Her words pierce the cloud of fury around Dean. He stops mid-punch and looks up, blood dripping from his nose. Red marks and purple bruises form on his face. His eyes, swirling golds and greens dipped in panic, focus on PJ. Dean’s loss of focus is all Declan needs. My brother hits Dean hard enough to push him off his body. Dean lands on the floor with a thud. Declan climbs on top of him, his hands circling Dean’s throat.
My heart clogs my throat as I see Dean’s face turn red. He scratches at Declan’s face, but I really think my brother might kill him. Right now, I wish I could be like Vivienne. I wish I could do something to make this all stop.
Suddenly, my feet can move again. Instead of going toward them, I grab PJ and pull him to me. I’ve got to get him out of here. Squatting down, I look him in the eye. He’s small—too small to see all this, too small to endure it. Another failure on my part. But I can’t focus on that right now.
“Go get your uncle Warren,” I tell PJ.
Maybe it’s a bad choice. I’m sure the last thing Warren wants is for Declan to find out he’s alive. The two of them can’t stand each other. Even before Declan shot him, they were always at odds growing up. Warren was the more reckless one while Declan always had to be on his best behavior as the next head of the Irish mafia. It’ll be worse now. Attempted murder isn’t something Warren will get over anytime soon. Hell, it’s been years since that night, and I’ve never heard Warren say a word about Declan. It’s like he’s dead to him. Poetic irony, I guess.
With PJ gone, I rush toward my brother. I try to push his body off Dean, but it’s like he’s rock solid—unmoving. Kane tries to stand back up to help. Blood drips from his head. He’s so woozy I can practically see the floating birds around his head. I didn’t realize he hit the ground so hard earlier. He’s not going to be any help to me at all—not like that.
Dean’s face turns more purple. My brother’s hands are bleeding from where Dean scratches them. I can see the fight leaving Dean’s eyes. Digging my feet into the ground, I push harder. He still doesn’t move.
“Move,” Warren yells as he barrels into the room.
I jump out of the way as Warren attacks Declan. He knocks Declan off Dean with insane force. The room fills with gasping sounds. Tears rush to my eyes as I drop to my knees and pull Dean’s head into my lap. His face is an odd shade between purple and red. Dots of blood stain the whites of his eyes as if the strangulation busted his capillaries.
He coughs and sputters, accepting air into his lungs again. My heart is in my stomach. PJ could’ve lost him. I could’ve lost him. My soul trembles at the thought of a world without Dean Walsh.
“Why are you crying, bluebird?” he rasps, his throat scratchy.
“Don’t try to talk.”
“I thought you hated me,” he continues, ignoring me.
“I do,” I sniffle. In this moment, I know I can’t hide behind the husk of my lies anymore. “But I think I might love you more.”
A weak smile spreads across his face. I press our foreheads together. My tears fall to his cheeks, but neither of us seems to care.
“Warren,” my mother yells. “Enough.”
I lift my head to see Warren wailing on our big brother. He stops instantly. Our mother is the only person on earth he respects enough to obey. Warren’s knuckles are bloody. His shoulders heave up and down. He’s like a feral animal right now, but he stands up and walks backward toward our mom.
At the same time, there’s a loud commotion at the front door. Grady is the first to show himself, followed by Gemma and Dean’s grandparents.
“What the fuck?” Grady asks, looking at the scene.
Three bloodied men, shattered glass, and enough hatred to suffocate an army. Jamie pushes to the front, his face falling as he looks at Dean and Declan.
“What happened?” he asks, the question sounding more like a demand.
“Nothing,” Dean says, his voice wheezing at the end of his deceit.
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
Gemma kneels beside Declan’s head. I can hear him talking to her, so Warren couldn’t have done too much damage. She helps him sit up. His face is a mess of bruises and blood. I spoke too soon—Warren did do some damage.
“Your grandson thinks he’s going to date my sister,” Declan snaps.
“So?” Gemma says, narrowing her eyes.
“So it’s not going to fucking happen. You need to take him back to Dublin, Jamie, and keep him the fuck away from my sister.”
Gemma gasps. “Declan! What the hell is wrong with you?”
He turns to face her. “What?”
“That’s not your choice to make, Declan.”
“The fuck it isn’t. He’s an alcoholic, Gemma. Not only that, but he’s also a mean one. His history proves that.”
My brother’s wife looks at me. “Juliette, what do you think?”
“He’s never hurt me physically if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then this is none of our business, Declan. Your sister is a grown woman. She can make the choice for herself.”
“I know she’s grown. She has a son.”
“What?”
Gemma’s face fills with shock and hurt. God, does this get any easier? I hope I’m running out of family members to surprise. It’s getting old.
“Surprise?” I offer weakly.
“It’s why you left, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“I take it the baby is Dean’s?”
“I’m not a baby,” PJ interjects, coming into the room. “I’m five.”
Gemma raises her hands. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t realize.”
“Mom? Is he okay?”
“I’m fine, kiddo,” Dean answers.
PJ’s body relaxes. I start to get up. This is definitely not the place for him to be.
“I brought cookies,” Margot says, causing me to freeze. “PJ, you want some?”
My son loses interest in the aftermath quickly. I mouth a thank you to Margot as she leads him to the kitchen. I’ve never denied that my kid has been blessed with the best grandparents—something I never had.
“I’m sorry, Gemma,” Declan says. “But I can’t let this one slide.”
As if on cue, tears gather in Gemma’s eyes. “What would you have done if someone had told you that you couldn’t be with me? Would you have listened if someone said our age-gap was too large or that I wasn’t fit to stand next to the king of Vegas?”
With every word, tears fall faster and faster. My brother starts to panic, his face opening in horror.
“Not the tears. Please don’t cry,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But how can I not cry? You’re disrupting fate here.”
“This is not fate,” Declan growls.
Gemma tilts her head. “Isn’t it? He searched for her for six years. No one can say he didn’t make a slew of idiotic choices along the way. His coping methods could use some work. But he never gave up on finding your sister. He never gave up on her. Doesn’t that count for something?”
My brother is silent. Too silent.
“No,” he finally says.
Gemma sticks her lower lip out a little more. “Oh, okay. I guess I’ll just go back to the hotel and mind my own business.”
“Baby, that’s not what I said, and you know it.”
“Well, apparently you no longer believe in love,” she whispers. “I’m not needed here then.”
“Okay, okay. He can stay. Just stop crying,” Declan pleads. “Please, wildflower. No more tears.”
It’s astonishing how fast her tears dry up. She should get an Oscar for her performance. Honestly, she’s a master at playing my brother. She always gives him a chance to make the right choice before she twists his arm. And he falls for it every single time.
“I will leave instead,” Declan says, climbing to his feet. “Turns out I can’t trust any of my own blood. So there’s no reason for me to be here anyway.”
His eyes skate over my mother and Warren. He looks so betrayed. I haven’t seen him tear up since our father’s funeral, but he is now. He shakes his head.
“Let’s go.”
Declan pulls Gemma to her feet and slips out the door, as if he didn’t come in here and wreck everything. I’ll never forget that look in his eye. I’ve never seen him so hurt. But that’s not my mess to clean up. It’s his. His and Warren’s. Though something tells me that road will be long and rocky.
I focus on Dean again. Relief runs through my veins as he returns to his natural color, aside from the red and purple marks around his neck.
“Told you, bluebird.”
“Told me what?”
“I told you you’d fall for me again.” He smirks.
How does he have the energy for that?
“I can take it back if you’d like?” I ask.
His brows furrow. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
Can’t argue with that.